


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by janvandyne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s Bucky Barnes, Dreams, F/M, Sleep Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: You wouldn’t come if Bucky didn’t call to you, subconsciously beckoning you into his dreams at night. But he does, so you’re there, dutifully chasing the demons away. And he doesn’t know – very few people do – that you have the power of sleep manipulation. That you can enter his sleep, that you can communicate with him through his dreams.You’re a doctor specializing in sleep disorders. That’s all anyone really needs to know. And this is something you’ve taught him to do: to choose someone he trusts, to will their presence into his thoughts. When he sees them, he’ll know he’s only dreaming. If he’s not, if it’s real, he trusts that they would help him.Either way, he chose you.





	Dream a Little Dream of Me

You wouldn’t come if Bucky didn’t call to you, subconsciously beckoning you into his dreams at night. But he does, so you’re there, dutifully chasing the demons away. And he doesn’t know – very few people do – that you have the power of sleep manipulation. That you can enter his sleep, that you can communicate with him through his dreams.

You’re a doctor specializing in sleep disorders. That’s all anyone really needs to know. And this is something you’ve taught him to do: to choose someone he trusts, to will their presence into his thoughts. When he sees them, he’ll know he’s only dreaming. If he’s not, if it’s real, he trusts that they would help him.

Either way, he chose you. 

You follow the dank cement hallways that seem never-ending, the air so cold you can see your breath in front of you. You let your feet guide you, because you know where you’re going, you’ve been here before. It’s not somewhere you want to be, but it is somewhere you have to be.

For Bucky.

Your journey ends in a familiar room, and when you enter, all eyes turn to you. Before anyone can make a move, you blink, and they all fall to the ground, comatose. If this were real, you’d make them sleep forever, constantly haunted by their worst and most terrible nightmares until they withered up and died. Because that’s what they deserve, to be tormented and tortured like Bucky was. Like he still is.

Bucky hasn’t moved from his place on the chair, where he’s shirtless, sweating, chest heaving. His head is hanging, hair covering his face, and when you take a step toward him, his eyes snap up to yours. They go from nonresponsive to wild, darting around the room like a cornered animal looking for escape. He rips the needles from his flesh arm, the electrodes from his other.

You call to him and he looks back to you, trembling, then everything goes dark.

* * *

The light slowly fades back in. The full, fat moon shines low and bright. The stars shiver in the sky, blinking awake, and Bucky’s eyes too, so blue, flutter open. He looks up at you, his head in your lap, as you stroke his hair.

“So, it was all a dream, then,” he says, his voice only a whisper. “I must be dreaming.”

You gift him with a smile. “Yeah, Bucky, it’s a dream,” you reply.

He reaches up and strokes your cheek with his fingertips, softly. He moves down your jaw, traces your lips. You kiss is palm and then turn to lean your cheek against it, a perfect fit in the curve of his hand.

“You feel so real,” he says.

“I am real,” you tell him.

“But I only get to touch you like this in my dreams.”

Your heart aches at his words, leaving you breathless, speechless. He thinks he’s only dreaming, and in many ways, he is. When you don’t respond, Bucky sits upright and settles beside you on the blanket. His fingers touch lightly at your shoulder, just the barest of touches, and then he slides his hand across your upper back, arm around your shoulders.

You lean your head on his shoulder, hand around his waist, as you both look out into the evening.

This is New York as he first knew it. You’ve been here with Bucky before, in his dreams. He’s taken you to different places – to Moscow and Melbourne and Bucharest, but New York is his favorite. It’s home.

The lights of a ferris wheel shines far out in front of you, and the sounds and smells of the fair softly permeate the air around where you two are sitting. You raise your head to look over at Bucky, so beautiful in profile. He’s wearing his army greens, his hat perched atop his head, eyes focused somewhere out into the distance.

“Do you want to go?” you ask him. “I bet we could see the whole city from the ferris wheel.”

“Nah,” he replies, shaken from his reverie. Quickly, he recovers. “I got the best view right here.”

You try and fail to keep the heat from rising to your cheeks. “Are you hitting on me, sergeant?” you ask.

He smirks. “If you gotta ask, I must not be doin’ it right.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you say, softly, your eyes flickering down to his upturned lips, back up to his own eyes.

Bucky gets the hint, and takes the initiative to close the space between the two of you, to press his lips against yours. It’s gentle at first, just lips against lips, but then he cups your jaw in his hands, tipping your head back to get you at then angle he wants.

You feel the gentle touch of his tongue against your lips, so you part them to meet his tongue with your own. He pulls, back, teasing when you do, but you still get a taste of him.

He tastes like cotton candy, sugary sweet.

Bucky guides you back, to lay down on the blanket beneath you, and slips between your legs, using his knee to coax them apart. He lays down on top of you, his weight resting on his arms beside your head, so that you two are hip to hip, the swell of his growing erection nestled right in the apex of your inner thighs.

You feel yourself getting wet already as Bucky moves his lips down to kiss your jaw, your throat, the soft press of his mouth setting your skin on fire.

“Mmm,” you moan, eyes still closed, savoring the imagined sugar from his lips. “You taste so sweet, Bucky.”

Bucky looks up and smiles. “I was gonna say the same thing about you.” He grazes the tip of his nose against yours. “But you’re always sweet.”

He moves off of you, goes to laying on his side next to you. His fingertips softly dance across the fabric of your skirt before he bunches it up in his fist, inching it up until he can touch your bare thigh. With his finger, he traces the top of your stocking, slips his index in between your garter strap and your skin, and slides it up the elastic.

He looks back up at you, lip caught between his teeth, a smirk playing on his lips. “Why do I only get to touch you like this in dreams?” he asks, the same as earlier. The same thing he asks every time.

But he doesn’t wait for your response. He slides his fingers against the crotch of your panties, pushing against the wet give of the fabric covering your slit. He rubs your clit with four fingers, gently taps against your cunt with his fingertips.

“Am I not enough for you here?” you ask, suddenly breathless again, as his hand creeps into your panties, softly brushing your clit with his fingers.

He shakes his head. “Come on,” he sighs. “Come on, sugar. You know that’s not it. I just want you. Every part’a you. Here and there. Outside and –” he slides two fingers into you, “— inside.”

“Oh! Oh, Bucky,” you moan. “You have me. I’m  _yours_.”

“I know,” he coos, then lets out a satisfied sound as he lazily pumps his fingers in and out of you. “I know, sweetheart.”

He rests his forehead against your temple as he gently fucks you with his fingers. His thumb finds your clit and he rubs it in small circles, making your back arch off of the ground. His movements are slow and soft, not trying to get you off but just trying to touch you, feel you.

His other hand is a pillow behind your head, a barrier between you and the blanket. His body is pressed up against yours, his front to your side, but you grab on to his jacket to try to bring him closer.

You can feel him smile against your temple before he places a kiss there. He leaves a trail down the side of your face, to your cheek, then to your jaw. His fingers keep a steady, slow pace, almost relaxing in their loving ministrations.

“Feel good?” Bucky asks, his voice low and deep in your ear. He laughs softly when you answer in only a whimper, nodding your head as you circle your hips. “Yeah, you feel  _so_  damn good.”

You gasp as you feel his fingers go deep. He keeps them there, buried inside of you, and pushes them forward, pressing against your inner walls. He finds that sweet little spot inside of you and massages it with firm fingertips, not letting up on the pressure even when the feeling almost gets to be too much for you.

“ _Bucky_ ,” you plead, fist still clenching the front of his jacket.

He comforts you with soft whispers even as he continues his assault on that most sensitive spot, attempting to calm you down as if he’s not the one making you feel this way. As if he doesn’t realize the delicious torture that this over-stimulation is causing you.

You grab his wrist with the hand not holding on to his jacket but put no effort in to trying to get away from his touch. You just need something more to anchor yourself as the tears gather in the corners of your closed eyes, threatening to spill over on to your cheeks.

You don’t think you can take anymore, but then, he stops. His fingers are still filling you, but his movements have halted, giving you some reprieve and allowing you to breathe again. He doesn’t move until you open your eyes, and when you do, he’s smiling.

Bucky eases his fingers out of you, slowly, his fingertips curved to rub a long line against your inner walls, making your hips buck up on their own accord. When he holds his fingers up between the two of you, they’re glistening, covered in your slick arousal. He places his fingers into his mouth, a devious glint in his eyes, and wraps his pink lips around them. Slowly he slides them out, tasting you, his eyes staring into yours as he moans.

“Mmm, always sweet,” he repeats, smirking.

Your cheeks heat up and you have to look away. “Bucky,” you whisper, embarrassed. He’s always so bold, so shameless. You wonder if he’s always like this or if he’s just this confident in his dreams.

“Come here,” he whispers and kisses you softly, just a gentle touch of his lips against yours, enough for you to taste the faint bittersweetness of yourself on his mouth.

“Good?” he asks when he pulls away and you nod your head, already leaning back in for another kiss.

He moves between your legs, his lips never leaving yours, and kneels between your thighs. When he gets settled, only then does he pull back, lifting up on his knees to sit upright. He places his hands on your knees and then slides them up your thighs, up, up so slowly until he gets to your wet and ruined underwear.

“Can I?” he asks, his fingers wrapped around the waistband of your panties.

“Yes,” you reply. “Please.”

He hums and says, “Such a sweet girl.”

You lift up your hips to help Bucky pull your panties down. He slides them over your garter straps, your nylons, catching them on your kitten heels. He tosses them to the side without sparing them a second look, eyes on your glistening sex instead.

Bucky places his hands on your inner thighs, pushing your legs down and spreading them apart. You feel more exposed than you’d like, but you also can’t help but feel adored under his gaze.

He leans down and kisses you right below your belly button. You’re still wearing your dress, but you can feel his lips through the fabric, and you tremble at the touch. He lifts up, and again, he’s looking down at your exposed cunt, bottom lip caught between his teeth, blue eyes bright and wanting.

“I gotta get my mouth on you, sugar,” he tells you, eyes finally meeting yours. “Can I?”

“Yes, Bucky,” you moan. “You don’t even have to ask.”

He smiles in response and then takes his hat off, tosses it beside you on the blanket. He then slides down, laying on his stomach, and places his warm palms on the back of your thighs.

You can barely see him over the fabric of your bunched-up dress, but you know he’s not doing much down there, so he must still be staring, making you squirm with self-consciousness.

One hand tightens on your thigh, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, the other moves away and your whole body jerks when you feel his fingertip touch your clit. The easy glide of his finger makes it obvious how wet you are as he slowly spreads your slick arousal across your folds.

You’re lost in the sensation, still sensitive from his fingers before, when you feel the hot press of Bucky’s tongue replace the digit. You gasp, hands coming down to Bucky’s head, holding the soft strands of his hair in your gentle grasp.

Bucky starts out slow, as always, loving to tease you and make you beg for more before he really dives in. He licks you softly, the flat of his tongue not focusing on your clit as you’d like it to but exploring the rest of you too.  

You try to roll your hips, to get him to put more pressure on your clit, but he holds you down with an arm across your stomach, making you groan in frustration. You call out to him, more of a sigh than anything, and he answers your plea with a moan of his own.

The sound of his pleasure as he has his mouth on you almost makes you come undone, your legs bracketing his body shaking at the sensation. That makes him lose a little bit of the control he had, and he begins to massage your clit with the stiff point of his tongue, retreating ever so often to suck and kiss at the sensitive nub.

You come quickly after that. Your body has been vibrating with pleasure since Bucky’s assault with his fingers, his tongue replacing them now in its mission to drive you to the brink. You grip his hair in a tighter grasp, almost holding him still at you rock your hips, using his mouth to get you off.

Your hips stutter as you reach your peak, back arched, eyes shut tight. The sounds you’ve been holding in come out in one long, drawn out moan, Bucky’s name falling from your lips.

The strokes of Bucky’s tongue are softer now, helping you come down from your orgasm. You let his hair loose, fingers just buried in the soft strands instead of gripping, and then finally he moves back, giving you some reprieve. 

When you finally open your eyes and look down, Bucky smiles up at you, then brings one of his hands up to wipe his mouth on the back of his wrist. He places a kiss to your inner thigh, then moves up – to your stomach, your breasts, he plants kisses on your bared throat, then his lips are on your own. He hums a sound of contentment against your mouth but doesn’t deepen the kiss.

He pulls back, but you don’t follow. Your chest is still heaving, limbs shaking, body loose in your post-orgasm haze. You mourn the loss of contact, but you’re too weak to do anything about it, so you just watch as Bucky stands up and moves to the grass at edge of the blanket by your feet.

You raise up on your elbows to watch him, legs still bent but thighs closed, knee to knee, with your dress still bunched up around your hips. From your position on the ground, staring up at him, he truly does look otherworldly with the black night surrounding him, stars glittering behind him like a halo.

He looks down at you as he unbuckles the belt around his waist, tosses it to the side, unbuttons his jacket and lets it drop to the ground beside him. Next is his tie, loosened from its knot, then he slides it from the collar of his shirt and puts it in the pile with the rest of his clothes.

Bucky pulls his shirt from the waist of his pants, and your eyes track his fingers as he unbuttons his shirt, slowly, from his throat, all the way down to the last button at the bottom. He rolls his shoulders to take it off, revealing the smooth skin of his strong arms, the tight undershirt seemingly pasted to his body. That, too, he rids himself of, hands on the hem of his shirt as he lifts it over his head, tight muscles of his stomach flexing.

He’s standing now in just his pants and shoes, and your eyes focus on the bulge behind his fly, waiting to be let free. Your gaze slowly sweeps up his naked torso, the lean muscle on display for only you, and then up, up, past his smirking lips to his sparkling blue eyes. And you can feel the heat in your cheeks flare as you realize that you’ve been caught in your ogling, but he’s been standing too still for too long now, so you raise up on your knees and move toward Bucky, kneeling in front of him.

Your fingers find his shoelaces and you untie them, trying to help him with his undress. But he doesn’t step out of them, just continues to stand over you, looking down at you as if you’re not dying for him to touch you again.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you say to him, you voice barely louder than a whisper. You move your hands to rest on his thighs right above his knees. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

His eyes get soft, sympathetic to your plight. “Oh,  _sweetheart_ ,” he coos, fingertips brushing your cheek.

You sigh, content with just that simply touch and the gentle sound of his voice. You lean in and place your lips on his thigh, kissing him through his pants, then sliding your mouth over until your lips are pressed against his cock. You can feel him hard through his pants, straining against the fly.

You open your eyes and look back up at him, and he has the long line of his throat exposed, head tilted back, and chest expanding with a deep breath. You open your mouth and run your tongue along the thick fabric, desperate in your need to taste him.

Bucky looks down at you again, smirks, bites his bottom lip as he palms the back of your head, and gently pushes you into him a little more, your mouth pressed against him harder. You let out a muffled moan and he pulls you back a little, slides his hand beneath your chin to tilt your head up to look at him.

All he does is stare for a moment, then he runs his thumb across your bottom lip, pushes the tip of his finger in just a little, just enough to catch on the wet inside of your mouth. When he pulls his thumb back, you reach out with your tongue, playfully chasing the finger and managing to lick the tip of it. He groans and withdraws his hand completely.

“Lay back, sugar,” he says. “Spread those legs for me. Let me see you.”

You lay back, legs bent and parted, and bunch your dress up around your hips again. Tentatively, you lower your hand down, shocked at your own brazenness. But Bucky brings it out of you, drives you crazy. He must be surprised too because he stops, fingers on the button of his pants, to watch.

“Bucky,” you moan, hiding your face in your shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m comin’,” he says, spurred back into action. “I’m comin’, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

He unfastens the rest of the buttons on his pants while he steps out of his shoes, his actions more hurried now. He lifts his leg and bends down, grabbing the toe of his sock to pull it off, then does the same with the other. His pants follow, and then his underwear, and finally he’s standing above you bare as the day he was born.

His cock is hard and thick, standing at attention, and he strokes it, long and slow, once, twice, his blue eyes shining as he stares down at you and you don’t know whether to look at his face or his cock, both too enticing to ignore in favor of the other.

He watches you as you watch him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, the corner of his mouth turned up in his trademark smirk.

And you barely realize that you’re touching yourself, softly stroking your clit, fingers sliding through your wet sex as you wait, trembling, feeling like you’re on display even though he’s the one standing there naked.

You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything, want to feel him on top of you, inside of you. You wonder if he can feel it too, your desire for him, since this is his dream. You hope so. You hope he can feel how wanted he really is.

“Do you keep all the girls waiting like this, Sergeant?” you ask, surprised your voice sounds as steady as it does.

“Ain’t no other girl,” he says. “You’re  _it_.”

He kneels between your legs, cockhead bobbing against his stomach as he moves, smearing slick against his skin. Once he’s settled, he plucks at the collar of your dress and asks, “What’re you doin’ with this still on?” before he starts to unbutton your bodice.

“I like it when  _you_  undress me,” you say, hands reaching up to wrap around his arms, feeling the way his biceps bunch and flex as he opens up your top.

“I like it when I undress you too,” he tells you, then leans down to place a kiss between your collar bones. “It’s like unwrappin’ a present.”

He trails more kisses down your chest, then across the top of your breasts. He bites at your nipple through the soft cotton of your bra, teeth baring down harder than you were expecting, and you gasp at the sharp sting of it. His hand finds your free breast and he cups it in his palm, pinches the nipple until it almost hurts.

And you offer yourself up to him – back arched, chest out – letting him have whatever he wants from you. He doesn’t linger, though, instead, he lifts up and finishes off the buttons on your bodice, unbuckles the belt at your waist.

Bucky supports you with a hand on your lower back as you lift up so that he can ease the dress over your head. He lays you back down and discards the dress somewhere with his clothes, leaving you in just your bra, your garter belt, stockings, and kitten heels.

“Best present in the world,” Bucky murmurs, eyes raking across your body.

He swoops down and kisses you again, his chest pressed against yours, stomach to stomach, his hips cradled between your thighs. You gently push on his shoulder and he goes down easily, laying on his back so that you can get on top of him. You straddle his hips, knees against the ground, the shaft of his cock hot against your clit, and you can’t help but shiver at the feeling.

You reach behind your back with trembling hands to unclasp your bra, and after you do, you hold it to your breasts with one arm, letting the straps fall off your shoulders. You look down at him, coquettish, as he runs his palm up your waist, but doesn’t make a move to touch your hand or your bra.

He’ll wait until you’re comfortable, never taking, always asking. He’s a gentleman, but that’s just part of the reason. You always see the fire flash in his eyes as you give in to him, almost begging him to do what he’s asking permission for.

“Can I see you?” he asks, smirking because he already knows the answer. “I need to see more of my sweet girl.”

You nod your head as you slowly slip the straps down your arms, freeing your breasts from the bra. You drop it on the ground beside you, and then almost cross your arms over your chest to cover yourself before you see the soft expression on Bucky’s face.

“Beautiful,” he says, eyes fixated on your breasts. Then, “beautiful,” again, quieter, like he’s in awe. “More than I could ever deserve.”

You blush, turning your face away from his gaze. “You’re crazy, Bucky.”

“Crazy about you,” he replies, smiling.

Bucky runs his hands up your waist, your ribs, to cup your breasts in his palms. He squeezes, softly, and you cover his hands with your own. You rock against his, just a little, just to feel his hard cock against your clit.

“Can I have you?” he asks, rolling his hips beneath you, sliding his shafts against your wet folds. “You’re gonna let me have you, aren’t you, sugar?”

You sigh, enamored. “Yeah, Bucky, I’m yours.”

“Raise up for me,” he says, one hand on your hip, the other on his dick as you lift up on your knees. He rubs the head of his cock against your cunt, getting it nice and wet before placing it against your entrance.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asks. “You ready for me to fill you up?”

“Oh!” you gasp, hips involuntarily jerking at his words, the sound of his voice. “ _Bucky_ ,” even softer, placing your palms against his chest as you slowly sink down the length of his cock.

You stay still for a moment, getting used to his size, the way he fills you up so completely. And Bucky never rushes, always waits until you’re ready, and when you are, you raise up on your knees, letting him slide out of you before lowering yourself back down again.

You do this, time and time again, riding Bucky’s cock, letting it stretch you full, a slow, satisfying motion that has Bucky raising his hips as you come down, meeting your movements with thrusts of his own. His hands on your hips pull you down, and he takes over completely, snapping his hips up to plunge in to your wet cunt, rocking your body with the force of his pleasure.

You try to put your palms on his chest to keep yourself steady, but you soon give in and lean forward, your body melting in to his. You lay down on his chest, head tucked beneath his chin, and he wraps his arms around you tight. You can feel him bend his knees, planting his feet on the ground to get some leverage, burying himself inside of you even deeper than before.

You can feel your breath hot against Bucky’s skin where your face is buried in the crook of his neck, mouth pressed against sweat-slick flesh. Your moans echo back at you in the small space between Bucky’s neck and shoulder as your hips move, grinding down on him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis as you make your way closer and closer toward climax.

Bucky’s hands grip your ass, encouraging you to take your pleasure from him. He rolls his hips, pushing them up against you to put more pressure on your clit. He keeps his cock buried inside of you, stretching you just right, the dual pleasures in your cunt and against your clit making your legs tremble.

“Sugar,” he moans, the word soft but strained in your ear. “Oh, sweetheart, my sweet girl. Let me feel it. I want to feel you come for me.”

And you do, breath catching, surprised at how quickly your body heeds his command. Rolling waves of warmth flow through you as you feel your pussy clench around Bucky’s cock, coating it with proof of your climax.

He flips the two of you while your body is still lax and loose, and you lay back, eyes closed, back arched, legs bent around his waist. He’s up on his knees, one hand wrapped around your stockinged thigh, your knee in the crook of his elbow, the other gripping your breast as he thrusts in to you.

When you do open your eyes, you’re met with the full expanse of Bucky’s muscular form. His stomach, chest, shoulders tight from his movements, the column of his neck long as he tilts his head back, eyes closed shut. Pieces of his mussed hair have fallen across his forehead and his pink lips are parted, taking in deep breaths with every stroke.

His name falls from your mouth, softly, over and over again, in time with the rhythm of Bucky’s hips. He leans forward, chest to your chest, elbows on either side of you, thrusting in to you with a renewed vigor.

You can feel his mouth sliding against your cheek, his moans in your ear as he climaxes, burying himself deep inside of you and filling you up with his come. You hold on to him tight, arms around his neck as his hips slow into a stop, chest heaving against your own.

When Bucky catches his breath, he kisses you, softly. You can feel his groan against your lips as he pulls out of you, and then he lays down beside you on his back, maneuvers you so that one leg is thrown across his body, an arm wrapped around his waist.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. With your head pillowed on his bicep, you let the stillness of the next relax you, the silence lull you to sleep.

“I don’t know what to do when you’re not here,” Bucky whispers, his voice fading out, quietly, and in, soft as waves. “…when you’re not in my dreams.” 

* * *

It’s Thursday, and that means today is Bucky’s sleep therapy session. You have to go to Stark Tower since Bucky is technically on house arrest, but they’re used to you there now, so the security scan is fairly quick and then you’re on your way to meet him.

You’re vibrating with anticipation as you make your way to the room designated for the sessions, and when you get to your destination, you see that Bucky has beaten you there. He’s laying on the couch, long body across the cushions, his hands behind his head and eyes closed. He looks so serene and peaceful, you almost don’t want to disturb him.

“Bucky?” you call to him softly as you enter the room.

He opens his eyes and smiles when he sees you, sitting up on the couch and placing his feet on the floor. He says something in greeting, but the pounding of your heart blocks it out. All you can focus on is the shape of his lips as they form the words.

You catch yourself staring at his mouth and try to suppress the heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks. You take a deep breath as you turn around to close the door behind you.

“You’re early,” you say to Bucky as you turn back toward him, looking down at your watch. “Is that a good or bad sign?”

“Good,” he says. “Real good. I slept through the whole night last night. One little nightmare at the beginning. But nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You give Bucky a smile and move across the room, setting your bag down next to the chair opposite him. You can barely meet his eyes and you silently curse yourself for always being so shy around the man. After all, _he_  is the one having dreams about  _you._

“That’s fantastic, Bucky,” you say to him as you sit. “Have you been using our technique?”

“Yeah,” He says as he looks down with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whenever the nightmares start, I think about someone I trust, someone who I care about, who I  _think_ cares about me. When I see them, I feel better, and I know that it’s not real, that it’s only a dream.”

You want him to tell you that it’s _you_  that he dreams about. You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to  _think_ that you care for him, that you really do. And that you’ll always be there to save him from his nightmares, for as long as he wants to dream about you. You want Bucky, here, in real life and not just in dreams. There’s so many things that you  _want_ , but it all starts with Bucky, and you figure that he’ll tell you in his own time, and you’ll wait. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t help him get there in the meantime.

“Who is it?” you ask. “You got Captain America swooping in to save the day?”

Bucky looks up at you, those blue eyes boring in to you like he knows. But he can’t, can he? It would be impossible. No one here knows but Mr. Stark, and he wouldn’t tell him, would he?

“Nah, not Steve,” he says, then bites his bottom lip. And in that moment, he looks so much like he does in his dreams that you can’t help but doubt your confidence in his ignorance.

“Then, who?” you ask, your heart beating faster. “Who is it that you dream about?”

Bucky smiles.


End file.
